Chapter 526 — Priceless

CHAPTER 526

Priceless

“Sixty stones a day,” Qian Mo said, clicking his abacus. “Thirty days minimum. That is eighteen hundred, plus a repair deposit.”

“He's a core disciple now,” Li Changyuan said. “Two stones a day.”

“The core rate is for the cells at the foot of the cliff, Sect Master. This is the Thunder Cliff chamber. Even a clever housewife can't cook without rice, Sect Master, and I cannot feed this sect without stones. Sixty,” Qian Mo said.

“Forty,” Li Changyuan said.

“Sixty,” Qian Mo said.

“It's a hole in a cliff. The last tenant was a bat,” Li Changyuan said.

“The last tenant was your disciple, Sect Master, and he left the walls sweating,” Qian Mo said. “The Thunder Cliff chamber is the only room on this mountain with a Nascent Soul-grade array. That is not a price. That is a fact.”

Li Changyuan’s hut was crowded. He sat on the cot with his broom across his knees, scowling at Qian Mo’s abacus. Zhu Liu balanced on the upturned bucket, receipt book ready. Sima Lan waited by the wall with folded arms. Shi Feng sat on the floor drinking water while his master argued over the chamber he needed.

“Forty-five,” Li Changyuan said.

“Fifty-eight,” Qian Mo said.

“Forty-eight. I'll throw in a cabbage,” Li Changyuan said.

“Sect Master, I don't want a cabbage,” Qian Mo said.

“Everyone wants a cabbage. They just haven't been honest about it,” Li Changyuan said.

“He's debating the price of his own breakthrough,” Zhu Liu whispered to Sima Lan.

“It's not a debate,” Sima Lan whispered back. “It's an hour.”

The argument lasted an hour. The lamp burned down a finger while the price fell to fifty-four, rose to fifty-six and finally reached fifty-three. Qian Mo stopped moving his abacus. Li Changyuan still looked dissatisfied, but neither man named another figure.

“Fifty-three,” Qian Mo said at last. “And not one copper less, Sect Master.”

“Fifty-three,” Li Changyuan said, with great bitterness. “Your mother must be proud.”

“My mother is dead,” Qian Mo said.

“Then she's proud from a distance,” Li Changyuan said.

Shi Feng set down his cup.

“I can pay the difference,” Shi Feng said. “Whatever it is.”

“Quiet,” Li Changyuan said.

“I know you have the stones. Quiet,” Li Changyuan said. He untied a grubby cloth bag and counted its contents onto the blanket. Paying visibly pained him, but he kept counting. “Eighteen hundred. Two hundred for repairs, because you’ll break something. Check it, Qian Mo.”

Qian Mo stared at the pile.

“Sect Master, that's the full price,” Qian Mo said. “The sixty a day. You haggled down to fifty-three!”

“I did,” Li Changyuan said.

“Then why are you paying sixty?” Qian Mo said.

“Because fifty-three was your best price,” Li Changyuan said. “Now I know what it's worth. Old ginger is spicier, Qian Mo. Nobody should pay for a thing until they know its price.” He pushed the coins across. “I haggle on principle. I pay on principle. They're not the same principle. Count.”

Qian Mo's mouth opened and closed. He began counting with trembling fingers.

“It's from the cabbage fund,” Li Changyuan added, to no one in particular. “Thirty-one years of cabbages. Don't tell the Treasury I have one.”

“I am the Treasury,” Qian Mo said.

“Then forget I said it,” Li Changyuan said.

Sima Lan stared at the pile of money. She knew what Li Changyuan’s cabbage fund meant to him, and now he was emptying it for Shi Feng. She turned toward the wall for a breath, unwilling to let either man see her expression.

“Receipt,” Qian Mo said faintly.

Zhu Liu hurried forward, dipped his brush and wrote. He checked the sum twice. Then he stopped, and the brush hovered over the last line.

“Sect Master,” Zhu Liu said. “What should I write under purpose?”

Li Changyuan thought about it.

“The master's breakthrough,” Li Changyuan said gruffly. “Priceless.”

Zhu Liu wrote it. His hand was shaking. Qian Mo read it over his shoulder, and for a moment the old Treasurer's whole face worked.

“Priceless can't be invoiced,” Qian Mo said. “It breaks the column.”

“Then break it,” Li Changyuan said. “Get out, all of you. I've got cabbages to count.”

They found Gongsun Ce waiting outside, with a puppet under his arm and a folded slip in his hand. It was past the second watch. He had plainly been waiting some time and was too proud to admit it.

“Champion,” Gongsun Ce said stiffly. “I'm told the door closes at dawn.”

“It does,” Shi Feng said.

“Good.” Gongsun Ce held out the slip. “Attendant. Odds, please.”

Sima Lan took the slip and read it.

One hundred stones. That Shi Feng walks out of the chamber alive and does not crawl.

She read it again. Her expression didn't move, but her fingers went still on the corner of the paper.

“You've bet against him every time,” Sima Lan said.

“Eleven wagers,” Gongsun Ce said. “Eleven losses. I have a very good abacus, Attendant. A man who loses eleven times is not unlucky. He is simply wrong.”

“Then you're closing the war,” Shi Feng said.

“I am adjusting my position,” Gongsun Ce said, with dignity. “The usual currency still applies.”

“Odds are fifteen to one,” Sima Lan said at last, and her voice was perfectly flat. “On the champion. They're generous. I wouldn't want you to lose heart.”

“Fifteen,” Gongsun Ce said, and let out a long breath. “Thank you. It is a bad bet. I find I don't mind.”

He bowed to Shi Feng, quickly and without fuss, and walked away with the puppet. Its glass eyes caught the lantern light as it went by.

Sima Lan watched Gongsun Ce leave, then folded his wager carefully into her sleeve. Eleven losses hadn’t stopped him from betting. This time he wanted Shi Feng alive more than he wanted to win anything from him.

“That is a first,” Sima Lan said.

“What is?” Shi Feng asked.

“Someone paying to be wrong,” Sima Lan said, and went to find her chalk.

The door would close at dawn. Nobody on the mountain knew yet how long it would stay shut.